


Long Distance

by foolishgames



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishgames/pseuds/foolishgames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thousand miles away, Ryan Evans might be the best friend Chad's got.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal January 2009.

Two weeks into his first semester at UA, Chad signs up for dance classes.

It’s mostly an accident; there’s a pretty girl in a low-cut top handing out flyers, and she winks and says she’ll see him there, right? And he shows up at the address to a whole bunch of pretty people stretching enticingly and there’s a slim dark-haired boy who looks him over in a frankly invasive way, squeaks excitedly and drags him inside.

The boy’s name is Tom, and he is stronger than he looks: three weeks later, Chad is still trying to get out from under his thumb. Tom teaches hip-hop, jazz, and street funk dance to beginners and advanced, mostly bored college students and tittering teenage girls. Chad is one of three boys and twenty girls in the five-thirty Wednesday class.

“You’re a natural, darling,” says Tom, who is not a boy at all. He is twenty-five, but smaller than Chad, thin but like a whip, all coiled potential and snap.

“Don’t call me darling,” says Chad peevishly. “And get your hand off my ass.”

“You need more spring in your step,” says Tom, and smacks him. “For this move, lots of energy. Light on your toes. Like – so!” He slides through the steps Chad’s been struggling with like a hot knife through butter.

“Sexual harassment,” complains Chad, and copies.

He nails it.

It’s good to have a friend, even if that friend is almost comically gay and thinks Chad won’t notice him copping a feel every session. He’s taken to staying after to talk to Tom, who is friendly and funny and easy to be around when he’s not throwing himself madly into a stereotype. 

Except tonight there’s a party two dorms over from him and he should eat something before he goes and he’s supposed to meet this girl from one of his classes to get some notes off her and did he mention his bendy gay dance instructor keeps hitting on him?

It doesn’t make him uncomfortable, except for when it does.

~

They don’t exactly move in the same circles, but dormitory life is like a big melting pot, and they run across each other every so often. Blonde hair, glitter – he can’t tell. Sharpay was unique at East High, but UA has dozens of blondes with indulgent daddies and high tempers, so he’s never sure if he’s really seen her or if he’s just having particularly potent trauma flashbacks.

And then one day she barges into his room and yells, “God, would you please just call my brother? Email him? Homing pigeon, something? Because I swear he thinks I’ve killed you. Just a message to say ‘Hey, Ryan, I’m alive and now that we’re out of high school I don’t actually want to be friends anymore, please be nicer to your sister.’” Then she huffs exasperatedly and storms out, leaving Chad and his roommate blinking.

“Dude,” says Steve slowly. “You hit that?”

“You see any scars on my pretty, pretty face?” says Chad, and grabs his laptop. “No. Because I value my hide.” He pulls up his email and is faced with the same dilemma as he has every time he’s logged on for the last three months: the steadily lengthening and increasingly frantic list of unanswered emails from Ryan, and the great big void in his head where all the things he used to say to Ryan were.

 _Dear Ryan,_ he begins, but: too formal? Maybe? Too affectionate, calling him dear? He doesn’t know. He tries again.

_Hey Ryan  
Sorry about the radio silence. Your sister just came and yelled at me. Is she going to get less scary at some point? Or at least stop getting more scary?_

_I guess it’s pretty weird I didn’t write for so long. I am really sorry about that. I got all your emails, it sounds like you’re having a good time at Julliard. Say hi to Kelsi for me.  
College is very different than I thought it would be, even though it’s a lot the same too. I mean, drunken frat parties and the whole dorm life thing, that’s great, and classes are pretty much a breeze, but at the same time, I kind of thought it would be different. College is supposed to be this huge experience and so far it’s like somebody took high school and got it drunk, only less interesting. It’s pretty depressing._

_Anyway. You seem to be having a better time, so that’s something._

_Chad._

_PS: I accidentally started taking dance classes at a local place. The instructor kind of reminds me of you. I never thought I’d find anyone who wore more pink than you do, but he’s giving it a shot._

He agonises briefly over the PS, and then hesitates before he hits send. It’s a pretty sad missive, but with his assorted guilt and dispiritedness, he can’t work up the enthusiasm for something more upbeat.

He sends it off and goes to practice, and that evening, there is a reply from Ryan already waiting. It begins _TWO MONTHS YOU FUCKER_ and goes from there. Ryan fills half a page with wounded vitriol at being ignored before asking how Chad can possibly be taking accidental dance lessons distracts him. He gets sidetracked into a tale from his own classes, something about hamstrings and mistaken identity and ending up on a date with a girl, forwards greetings from Kelsi, who is evidently sitting right beside him, and launches into a rant about buying Christmas gifts.

It ends: _If you ignore me for another two months, I will have you killed. Or at least mildly inconvenienced. I’m not kidding, you better write back. Ryan. PS Seriously, what’s with the dancing. You’re messing with me, right?_ Chad fires off a quick response about how he should just buy Sharpay stock in a glitter factory and get the pretence over with, before turning to a paper on Russian literature he’s never read, much less understood.

~

For a while, Chad sort-of dates this girl Marcy he hooked up with at a party. She’s pretty and smart and wears wire-framed glasses that he finds impossibly hot. She has a ridiculous snorting laugh and he gets to second base with her on her narrow dorm bed before her roommate gets back.

She breaks up with him during the frazzled stress of midterms. Over the phone, Troy tells him that Chad deserves better, than Marcy wasn’t the right one, that one day he’ll find his soulmate and be as happy as Troy is and then Troy has to go because he’s meeting Gabriella.

Ryan sends him an IM telling him to stop being such a pussy, and then spends the rest of the night sending him a series of jokes so filthy Chad chokes, caught between laughter and horror more than once.

Tom takes his new single status as the opportunity to hit on him again. Chad pats him on the head and tells him to stop being the creepy guy. Tom pouts.

“You’ll come around one day,” he declares.

“You need to stop touching me inappropriately,” Chad tells him. “Or at all, really.”

He writes to Ryan with a slightly exaggerated version of the sexual harassment he’s suffering, and receives three lines in return:

_College is for experimentation. Go for it!_

_Midterms aaarrgh._

_Kelsi says hi and also go for it, she thinks it would be hot._

Which is not particularly helpful. He replies telling Ryan so, and receives a hastily-taken photo of Ryan and Kelsi poking their tongues out at him for this troubles. Kelsi has cut her hair; Ryan is wearing eyeliner.

Chad takes a photo of the broken door handle and Led Zeppelin poster on his door and sends it off, and then he goes to bed.

~

In the couple of weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, they barely write – Ryan is stressing over some piece of music he has to write ( _why did I sign up for composition, Chad, seriously, I am going crazy_ ) and the Redhawks are amping up for a couple of big games, including the one against UC Berkley, Troy’s team. But they start this weird thing of sending each other random pictures of stuff they see during the day – the inside of Chad’s locker, the mystery meat Ryan has for lunch, a net full of basketballs, Kelsi asleep on a piano, Ryan’s reflection in a mirror, Chad’s new experiment with his sideburns. 

Troy, when he shows up for the big game, has cut off his hair and gone more crazy than usual with fake tan.

“There’s all these boys in California,” he says, fidgeting. “Smart guys. Gabriella’s surrounded by smart guys who like her a lot.”

“So you solution is to dye yourself orange?” says Chad, and snaps a photo, sending it off to Ryan.

“I’m worried I’m not smart enough for her,” says Troy gloomily. “And I’m not orange, what the hell.”

The coach yells at Chad across the gym then, to stop fraternising with the enemy, and Chad pats Troy’s (orange) shoulder and jogs back over to his team.

 _Did he fall in a pumpkin pie?_ Ryan wants to know.

 _No other explanation_ , replies Chad, _wish me luck,_ and chucks his phone in his bag.

He only plays one quarter, and Troy plays a different one, so they don’t actually have to face off. The Redhawks win by a comfortable lead, and Chad tries not to look at Troy’s obviously crestfallen face.

He blows off his team mates after to hang out with Troy, but all Troy wants to do is talk about Gabriella, which gets old really fast, and Chad can’t really feel guilty for tuning out most of his chatter, though he’s beginning to feel a bit despairing – Thanksgiving is this week, so Troy is staying until the following weekend and if he can’t find something else to talk about, Chad may have to kill him.

The conversation is interrupted when Ryan sends him a picture of Kelsi pretending to slam Ryan’s head in a piano with the accompanying message, _she got sick of me complaining, but at least it’s done!_

“What’s that?” asks Troy when Chad laughs.

“Oh, just something Ryan sent me. He’s been stressing about a project and he just finished.” He shows Troy the picture, and can see by his face he doesn’t get it. “Never mind. So, how is it working with a team that isn’t the Wildcats?” 

Even Troy can’t turn that into something about Gabriella, and they banter back and forth and talk a little smack about each other, and it’s like old times again. Troy tells him about the show he’s doing with school, and Chad brings up the accidental dance lessons and gets conclusive proof that Troy’s not always a self-centred jackass, because he remembers Chad talking about it and is actually interested, asking questions and listening to the answers. He wants to know if Chad’s going to be doing any performing, which Chad shrugs off, a little uncomfortable, because Tom’s been taking sign-ups for an entry into a local show he’s putting together, and Chad has been dodging the question.

They go for dinner at a place Chad’s been eating at a lot just off-campus, where the food is cheap and plentiful and lots of students hang out. They build a breadstick tower and drink way too much soda and collapse into giggles when the waitress interrupts a re-enactment of a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (Help! Help! I’m being oppressed!)

And then Tom shows up with a handful of slender, graceful girls, which Chad should probably have expected as they’re only about two blocks from the studio, and makes a beeline for Chad.

“Chad, darling, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this show. I know it’s short notice and you’re a busy boy and all, but it’s over the break, and I don’t think it’s fair to deprive the world of your thighs, I really don’t.”

Chad blinks bemusedly at him. “Thank you. This is my friend Troy, from high school. He’s studying performance at Berkley.” 

Troy gives a little wave, obviously trying not to do something wildly inappropriate like break out laughing or start a salad war.

Tom leans uncomfortably close to whisper in Chad’s ear, his breath hot. “Why is he orange?”

~

_chadmeister: My bendy gay dancing friend keeps hitting on me and it’s making me really uncomfortable._

_Tmckessie: Never bothered you before._

_Chadmeister: ???_

_Tmckessie: He’s been hitting on you for years. Did you only just notice?_

_Chadmeister: Tay, I only met Tom two months ago. If he’s been hitting on me all this time, his powers of super-gay are greater than I realised._

_Tmckessie: Who the hell is Tom?_

~

Ryan is home for Thanksgiving, and due to a bizarre and unfortunate series of coincidences, he and Chad manage not to see each other at all. One arrives as the other leaves, Ryan goes to Chad’s place when Chad has just run over to Troy’s, and is gone before he manages to get back. They organise to meet but Chad’s car breaks down, and then Sharpay kidnaps Ryan and makes him get a facial and massage with her. (“I’m sorry, it’s just – she’s my sister, and she won’t say she missed me, but she won’t leave me alone, either,” Ryan apologises over the phone.)

Thanksgiving he has to spend with his family, and the following morning he gets a picture message from Ryan – a shot of Ryan looking sad, standing by the window of the airport, planes lined up on the runway behind him as the sun rises. He sends back a picture of himself, face screwed up like he’s crying.

 _Troy says ur gonna dance @ xmas?_ Ryan texts him later.

 _Promise u wont laugh if I do,_ Chad returns.

_So proud of you :-D_

~

A week before Christmas break, Kelsi sends him a music file with the recording she and Ryan made of the song he wrote. It’s a little unexpected, if only because he rarely communicates directly with Kelsi. She’s an unavoidable presence in Ryan’s life, his best friend, partner-in-crime and accompanist, present in about half the photos Ryan sends him and behind the camera of most of the others. But most of their communication is through Ryan: tell Kelsi I said, or Kelsi thinks, or me and Kelsi went. So her email is unexpected.

It’s also really cryptic, just the attachment, and a short message.

_Ryan’s going to kill me, but I thought you deserved to hear this, all things considered. Please don’t be mad. Kels._

Chad doesn’t know why he would be mad, even after listening to the song. It’s Kelsi playing and Ryan singing, his voice clear and longing. A sad song, but it’s called Unrequited, not I Hate Chad or Basketball Sucks, so he’s not sure what the problem’s supposed to be.

Except of course he knows.

It’s never been a thing, with Ryan, not like it could have been if it were a different guy. He’s never felt like he had something to prove, or something to defend, and it’s not a problem, that Ryan likes him that way. They’re buddies, it’s good, and if Ryan’s gaze sometimes linger a little too long, or if he sometimes looks wistful or embarrassed when Chad talks about girls or hugs him – it’s cool. It’s fine.

Except maybe it’s not, because Kelsi is evidently really quite worried about Ryan, which means maybe this has all gone too far.

He sends off an email to Ryan saying _Awesome song dude, we should talk,_ and gets no reply, and no reply, and no reply. 

He sticks the song on his favourites list and listens to it a lot over the next couple of days. The sweet ballad is markedly different from just about anything else he listens to, and worlds away from the intense percussion Tom’s using for the dance.

Speaking of, he’s going to kill Tom if he doesn’t back off. Yes, the show is in a bit over a week, but it’s not like haven’t been practising, it’s not like all the dancers aren’t fully prepared. Chad thinks he could do the routine in his sleep.

But Tom is doing his best to fulfil all the stereotypes Ryan so carefully trained out of Chad – the whole shrieking drama queen thing. Where Ryan is coolly focussed, Tom is rabidly hysterical; where Ryan is unapologetic and full of flair, Tom is flouncing, flaming, and camper than a row of tents.

He can’t stop comparing them once he starts, and it’s not helping that Ryan hasn’t actually contacted him at all since Kelsi sent him the song. He wonders if Ryan’s mad at him, or embarrassed, but as he’s not answering his emails, he supposes it can’t be helped. 

The worst part is, if this were anybody else, he’d be asking Ryan for advice. But he doesn’t think that would go over too well.

~

When Tom shows up for practice in a pink feather boa and somebody else’s high heels with eyeliner smeared down his cheeks, Chad intercepts him and drags him off to a café where he feeds Tom non-caffeinated herbal tea and tells him to chill the fuck out before he breaks something. Like, one of the dancers.

Practise is in full swing by the time they get back, and Chad see Tom’s hackles smoothing down at the sight of his students moving seamlessly, joyfully through the movements he’s co-ordinated. Chad gets a lot of grateful looks from the girls for the relatively peaceful rehearsal. 

Afterwards, Tom is calmer. “You’re an angel, Chad sweetie. How did I get along without you?”

“Duct tape and caffeine?” says Chad, and adroitly ducks to the side avoid Tom’s hands coming in to ruffle at his hair. “Seriously, though. I kind of need some advice.”

Tom cracks a joke about ribbed condoms, and Chad forces a laugh. “I have this friend from high school, Ryan.”

“You’ve mentioned him. The dancer, right? The guy who taught you?”

Chad nods. “Anyway, he’s coming back for Christmas, and he’ll probably be here at the show.”

“Don’t worry, precious. One look at your gorgeous ass in those jeans and he’ll topple right into your manly arms.” Tom leers.

“Actually,” Chad winces, “I’m kind of looking for way to let him down gently. I think he might have a thing for me, and I don’t – I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Is he not pretty enough for you?”

“No, I’m not gay enough for him. Or at all.”

Tom looks honestly puzzled by that. “Are you sure, honey?”

Chad glares. “Of course I’m sure! I know you have this whole idea about how everyone’s a little bit gay, but I’m not!”

Tom holds up his hands, a little defensively. “I never – it’s not that. It’s just you’ve never shown any interest in any of the girls in this class, and they’ve all taken a punt at some point.”

There’s a moment of silence. Chad looks hard at Tom, suspicious and defensive, but Tom, for once, looks earnest. And slightly – apologetic.

“I was just teasing you,” says Tom, and looks uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean – I honestly thought. You’re in college, lots of guys experiment, and you’re hot. And the way you talked about this guy, I guess I just kind of figured. That you. Well.”

The silence continues. Chad can’t think of anything to say to that.

~

_Xmas party tonite. U still coming?_

_U still talking 2 me?_

_Y. Sorry. I wanted to write. But I want to talk. Pls?_

_I said I would be there and I will. Cu tonight._

~

Sharpay is greeting guests at the front door when Chad shows up. The house is impeccably decorated, of course, what smells like real pine branches and holly, not a single tacky tinsel ornament in sight.

“So happy you could come,” says Sharpay. “Hi, there. Hello – oh. It’s you.”

Chad hands his coat to the maid (the maid, seriously) and folds his arms. “Hello, Sharpay,” he says, as politely as he can manage.

“Danforth,” she returns evenly. “Ryan’s upstairs. Having a panic attack. Don’t get blood on the carpet.”

“Why does everybody think I’m mad at him?” he bursts out. “I don’t get it.”

She squints incredulously. “Wow. You’re kind of oblivious. Mrs Beecham, hi! It’s so nice to see you again.”

“I didn’t mean,” says Chad, but she’s ignoring him totally, and he sighs gustily and wanders off.

He’s been to the Evan’s house before, of course; their giant entertainment system meant that, for senior year at least, wild horses couldn’t keep him away. So he knows the way to Ryan’s room, but he lingers at the bottom of the stairs, grabs a drink, nods to people he knows, and stalls until Kelsi comes down.

She looks really excellent, and he blinks. He remembers her as a shy little thing, a pair of glasses under a hat, but she’d come out of nowhere to be crowned prom queen on Ryan’s arm, and she stands above him now in a strappy little dress with her hair down around her shoulders, frowning.

“Hey,” he says, and she nods.

“I want to apologise,” she begins, but he waves her quiet.

“You were trying to help, right? And it’s not like I didn’t already know.”

“You did?” She comes down to stand beside him, and she must be wearing heels, because he can almost look her in the eye.

“Ryan’s never actually been all that subtle,” he points out. “Is he okay?”

“Aside from barely speaking to me? Convinced I’ve screwed it all up?”

“I’ll talk to him.”

She looks hopeful, then troubled. “You’ll be nice, won’t you?”

He hugs her. “I’ll be real gentle, Kels. Don’t you worry.”

She socks him on the arm, and he heads upstairs.

Time to sort this all out.

~

It’s not that easy, of course. First he has to work up the courage to actually knock on the closed door, which is how he ends up sitting on a chair in the hall and directing people to the bathroom.

Disgusted with his own cowardice, he finally makes it to Ryan’s bedroom door. It has a duck on it. Chad stares at it.

He takes a deep breath, and raises his hand to knock, and his phone buzzes in his pocket, scaring the living daylights out of him.

A message from Ryan:

_Hey u still coming tonight?_

He hesitates, thumb over the reply button – pull out, pull out – and then tucks it back in his pocket and knocks, shave-and-a-haircut.

“Come in,” calls Ryan, after a pause.

Ryan is sitting on the giant bed, barely dressed. For him, this is sweats and a t-shirt, barefoot, no hat. He looks very small and a little overwhelmed.

“Hi,” says Chad gently, and Ryan looks up.

“Oh. Hey.”

Chad shuts the door and hops up on the bed next to Ryan, who stiffens. “So.”

“So,” Ryan echoes, and then laughs, a little weakly. “Hi. How were your finals?”

Chad smiles. “Good. Well, you know. I didn’t fail anything. You?”

Ryan shrugs. “Okay. It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

“You’ll be great,” says Chad. “You’re amazing at what you do.”

“Not at Julliard,” Ryan replies. “There I’m just average.”

“You’ve never been average, don’t be stupid,” says Chad.

Ryan actually smiles at that, embarrassed. “So, this is a bit awkward.”

“Yep,” says Chad. He bumps Ryan’s shoulder. “I liked the song.”

“Oh, God.” Ryan buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe Kelsi.”

Chad pats him on the back. “She was just looking out for you. Don’t be mad.”

“I told her not to,” says Ryan, muffled.

“It’s okay,” says Chad. “Really.”

“It’s not like it’s a thing,” says Ryan. “It’s just – just a thing.”

“Okay,” says Chad, “thanks for clearing that up,” and Ryan snorts and shoves him and everything is a bit more okay.

“Seriously,” says Chad. “For this, you were stressing? You were ignoring me and skipping your party and having panic attacks that scare the womenfolk?”

“Shut up,” says Ryan, laughing, and it’s like the easiest thing in the world to lean over and kiss him.

About half an inch from Ryan’s lips, Chad thinks “Oh god what am I doing?” and he’s about to pull away, he is, only he’s frozen in place with Ryan’s blue eyes right in front of him, and Ryan seems to take his hesitation as some kind of permission, because he closes the distance between them with a sort of sigh.

It should be strange, to be sitting on Ryan’s bed, kissing Ryan, three days before Christmas. It should be, but Ryan’s mouth is warm and undemanding, almost hesitant, like Ryan’s not quite sure out to proceed.

When Chad pulls away, Ryan is shaking a little. “What,” he says. “Why?” His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are parted.

“It’s okay,” says Chad, because if he knows something, it’s that. It’s him and Ryan. They’re okay. “It’s okay.”

~

Ryan freaks out pretty much straight away and hides in his closet until Chad leaves, but Chad can’t really take that much offence, because Ryan is highly-strung, and the kiss did kind of come out of nowhere, and Chad is, himself, freaking out. So he goes downstairs and hides in the kitchen with the Evans’ cook Elaine, who swears like a sailor and plays a mean hand of rummy.

Kelsi joins them when her musical ear is too offended by rich, drunken idiots mangling “Silent Night” to bear it a second longer, and Elaine pulls out a chocolate cake she’s hidden from the guests and teaches them to cheat at poker.

When the cake is half gone and Kelsi is slumped, giggling over her cards, Ryan shows up at the kitchen door, looking vaguely apologetic. He’s dressed, at least, if somewhat casual in jeans and a sweater that looks so soft Chad wants to rub up against it – how did he not figure this out before, seriously?

Ryan waves off Elaine’s offer of cake. “Actually, I was hoping to steal Chad away for a bit, if that’s okay,” he says, almost shyly.

Kelsi looks startled, then worried, and eyebrows at Chad significantly, trying to communicate – something. Possibly something significant, Chad’s not sure. He smiles and nods and follows Ryan out onto the terrace.

It’s a clear, cool night. There’s a bite of frost in the air, but it’s not really cold.

“So,” says Ryan. “I wasn’t actually kidding, when I said I wanted to talk, you know.”

Chad hesitates. “It wasn’t exactly how I planned the conversation going, no.”

A slightly awkward silence stretches between them. Ryan ducks his head. “So. Talking. You – uh. You kissed me.”

“Yep,” says Chad, and folds his arms around himself. “You wrote me a song.”

“I did,” Ryan nods. “Did you like it?”

“Very cool. Kind of sad.”

“I was pretty emo when I wrote it,” Ryan confesses. “But to get back to the point.”

“Should I apologise?” says Chad. “Did you not like it?”

“Are you insane?” says Ryan, flinging his hands into the air like a crazy person. “The only reason you would need to apologise is if you don’t plan to do it again!” He pauses for moment. “Or if it was an elaborate practical joke you were playing as part of a frat hazing or something. It’s not, is it?” He looks wary, all of a sudden, and Chad wants to hit him.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says. “They don’t let freshmen into frats.”

Ryan stares at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Chad,” he says.

“Oh, shut up,” says Chad, exasperated. “Do we have to talk about it? Can’t it just be… what it is? A thing?”

Ryan sighs explosively. “I’m going back to New York in a fortnight. I’m going to be there for years.”

“Why they invented the phone,” says Chad. “Also, email. Did you notice the way we emailed a lot? I liked that.” He edges closer, sliding into Ryan’s personal space.

“It won’t be the same,” says Ryan, and puts a hand on Chad’s chest.

“Well then I guess we shouldn’t do anything else,” says Chad. “’Cos it won’t be the same after you go. We should just go inside to the party. There’s eggnog.” And he pulls away, starts to turn, and Ryan makes a noise of protest and yanks him back.

Chad laughs, and Ryan pokes him, and then they’re kissing again, both still laughing, with their mouths open and their teeth clacking together and it turns out Ryan’s sweater really is just as soft as it looks. Chad fists his hands in it and pulls Ryan closer, until they are tangled and twined together.

~

_Hey babe,_

_Do I call you babe? I don’t know._

_Finally hooked my camera up to the computer so I can send you all the pics I took of you dancing. (It took me a while because I’d open up that shot of you – you’ll see the one I mean – and spend the next ten minutes quietly remembering how to breathe. You still have those jeans, right?) They came out pretty well, considering I’d never used the camera before, but apparently Kelsi got her hands on it at the party because there are some moderately incriminating pictures of us out on the terrace. Which I have also attached, even though they’re kind of dark and blurry. Because, well. You know._

_Speaking of Kelsi, she has decided to swear off boys now that the two best ones are off the market, and is dating a cello player called Amy. IDEK. She sends love, and also smugness._

_I checked my schedule, and I will be totally free the weekend you are up, so I can come to your game and show you around the city. And take you to the theatre, don’t argue, I’ll make it fun for you. I’m also plotting an unbelievably fabulous birthday present for you. No, I’m not telling_

_See you soon (I hope)_

_Ryan._

_PS We should totally get webcams._


End file.
